It Is Here

again I lie
it forces its way out through
my teeth

staring into
eyes of amber chocolate
beauty

so true this time
and again not everything
real

I am the wolf
who strives to be the white prince
of dreams

whose soft kisses
open her eyes to life worth
living

silly smile
locked in that way I can't help
feeling

these worn down fangs
promising everything She's
wanting

delivers us
into temptation's empty
belly

where both of us
wallow in our happiest
sorrow

it is here now
awakening to facts not
pleasant

reality
all of those sweet times brushed off
falling

onto my soul
where I will choose to believe
or won't

again I lie
wearing truth's better Sunday
clothing

still just rags
these grand imperial clothes
bare all

baby don't call me buddy

evening fallen empty again
and so full of everything
that might not have been
would never have become this
wonderful, vagrant friend

kissing softly inside my head
when the sun has settled
behind the far side
shadowing me and my dear friend
to writhe in comforting emptiness

this sport is wild mad insane
and willfully indulged
where no one but the ghosts
of satisfactions never born
can cheer us on and wave their arms

occasionally I'll notice something
wrong it seems but sweet your song
brings me down again to trespass
upon the most natural of things
to lose myself where no one sings

and though outside my door
do people wander and endure
their own sweet nothings poured
out by their own most natural
of nature's whores begotten

they must be less than nothing
for my own is so intensely mine
and only wanting more each time
do I embrace it once again
to fall and swallow all your pain

fallow my mind is hardly so!
it simply seethes with cares and woe
the images my friend does bring
instill such fear and hope enticing
bleeding me out of my mind

but darkness always lifts again
too soon! where is my empty friend
without whom now my life begins
each sun's light rising into morning
another chance to move along
before my friend will find me once again

Believer

I don't now need
to believe
as hard as I once so truly did
when I was all angst and invective
against the gods
and all their sundry
creators

Is it insensitive
to care far more
for your mortal coil
then for the spin which life
for you has propelled
some kind of order to
this madness

Essences frothing
foaming and devoting
countless little nothings
each of their own
beyond the pail
each with grasping
hands and minds
believing

Awareness settles in
at last I see
at least I see
something more than mere belief
erupting like a plume
of magma from a new land's
birthing cauldron

In salt and wet
unwholesome sweat
and benign accompaniment
of little things
which no one thinks about
lest we be rousted
from our sleeping

For now too long
I have thought about them
though there can never be
enough of thought
expressions of a mind
evolved in trees and
the floor of the world
wide and free and terrifying

Is dreaming still
the night's watchman
the guard upon whom
all lives depend
to waken them
when hyenas roam and salivate
for childrens' flesh and marrow

I believe it's so
but let me be the first
to say that I know not
what favors
mystical unknowns
might deign to bestow upon
our fair and foul
family of humanity
within the jungles
of our complex minds

So wherein lies
the tale teller's crux
that oh so many
believe his sorry tellings
on the screens
and waves of modernity
and soiled by sellings
of mere things to boost morale
to slaver for new needs
to be fulfilled

It's all in the enigma
it's three slight pounds
it's lobes too three
it's aloneness
in the darks of nights
intent on being
someone something gleaming
chrome and bright
which all might to believe in

A portion of our time
elapsed and lost and ruined
yet still alabaster
in pristine and innocent
unconsciousness
alone together
none as one except
in special circumstances

How is the end
to ever come
for ever and the new beginnings
the airs we breathe
and sighing leave behind
to those who
come after all unwilling
until each shall find
our own means to believe

And with believing
cold willing
or the passion of
the fireplace on plains of
ancient dusks' heartless landscapes
and god's
relentless
laughing

Believe believers
or failing that
buy your ways from darkness
it's only what we each are owed
for this life with which we're playing
whether by the rules
we're given to believe in
Or simply until our leaving

shame and remorse - four innocents lost

I want it out of my head
I want it done with my life
I want it over and done with
I want it finished influencing me

Nine with a need to discover
Seven the guard above covers
Five in blissful attendance upon her
Four an annoyance why must he be here

Two for my own at her pleasure
One mystery to unfold at my leisure
Oh but Four has gone and befouled her
Repulsive a longed for and beautiful treasure

So back to the start again groping
What was it for which I was hoping
A mere child without tools for coping
Alone with three other souls all unknowing

Forty years later and the denial
From others who'd failed this trial
For they in their innocence fading away
Found comfort in letting go of any such day

As might lead to their failure being forced into the open

Where she on her own had already let go
Of the other who couldn't be told since his rage
Uncontrolled would betray them all and destroy them
Denying their chance to recover their sweetly lost full potential

Forty years on and still holding
Candles unlit and shadows unfolding
Peace nearly here my pace finally slowing
As griefs piled high are the proof of unknowing

Innocence lost is not lost for all time
Tragedies' costs carry interest that's fine
For the truth is always available to the mind
Which opens itself fully in hope of some sublime

Ascendancy into the knowing
Life free again to grow how it may
No remorse shame or fear of not knowing
No remorse shame or fear of not knowing

in the empty bottle

i'm not going to murder
this man that I love

but I know him like few others
no
like no other

and i loathe him
with all my heart

i am wounded and not afraid
to cry about it

like a little girl
forget the boy i've always been
never had a chance
to truly be

exalted in my pain
i am pathetic and deserve ...

far from in love and there
always there
and alone

in dreams and other blissful days
when manic i am

in reality abolished nightly
daily recriminations boil up

falling down the rabbit hole of
my poor me poor me poor me

empty
nothing left to pour